A half honest poem:
The Large Gray Cat
This year the landscape has swelled with sadness.
The rains, reservoirs, and tectonic plates have worked
together to expand life in it’s black and blue
ongoing.
The birds are all gray now, their throats have dimmed and
the sky hangs in heavy folds over trees thick with dew.
I have seen the asphalt turn black in the rain and
trees bend in the wind.
I have seen dead animals on the roads.
One, a large gray cat, around six o’ clock.
Night was beginning to bury the valley and its body still looked warm.
I could see the porch lights on the houses-
people setting tables for dinner.
They’d be watching TV later, their faces lit up.
And I could see them in their beds, turning over in the sheets
while that body hardened
to be discovered in the morning
already dead.
I have been boiling pasta, reading books,
watching TV, putting on socks at night
but I am waking up now.
I am putting on my shoes.
I am going out to get the mail.
2.20.07
This year the landscape has swelled with sadness.
The rains, reservoirs, and tectonic plates have worked
together to expand life in it’s black and blue
ongoing.
The birds are all gray now, their throats have dimmed and
the sky hangs in heavy folds over trees thick with dew.
I have seen the asphalt turn black in the rain and
trees bend in the wind.
I have seen dead animals on the roads.
One, a large gray cat, around six o’ clock.
Night was beginning to bury the valley and its body still looked warm.
I could see the porch lights on the houses-
people setting tables for dinner.
They’d be watching TV later, their faces lit up.
And I could see them in their beds, turning over in the sheets
while that body hardened
to be discovered in the morning
already dead.
I have been boiling pasta, reading books,
watching TV, putting on socks at night
but I am waking up now.
I am putting on my shoes.
I am going out to get the mail.
2.20.07